We complain of the rain
But it nourishes all the same
And when it gets too hot
We search for a shaded spot
When spring comes its muddy and wet
And the coldness of winter we soon forget
The fall gives colors both pretty and bright
But the days get shorter and invades quicker the night
When soft delicate snow comes to blanket the ground
The parks all go empty and no ones around
So when are we happy or content in a way?
a whole year has passed with not one joyful day
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem